


Regicide

by iphido



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Intrigue, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25214821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphido/pseuds/iphido
Summary: The things we love destroy us every time.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 28
Kudos: 176





	1. Master of Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> hello! before you read: (1) this fic is not historically accurate. (2) this fic will also contain adultery. if you have qualms about these two things, [here’s a lengthy disclaimer](https://listography.com/iphido/notes/regicide).
> 
> the summary is taken straight from George R.R. Martin’s _A Game of Thrones_. [song for this chapter](https://open.spotify.com/track/4VulISo0xgXeWnOQsS1IgN?si=bXjZKCxORdCjuLN3CSP3iA). for clarity, [here](https://i.imgur.com/bUmvwnL.png) is akaashi’s family tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the E rating doesn’t kick in during this chapter, but there is innuendo. this fic is me indulging myself and getting over my fear of multi-chapter works. that being said, please enjoy!

* * *

Prince Akaashi Keiji knew all the best hiding spots in the Owl Court. He created his list when he was only five years old, and in the fifteen years since, it had grown exponentially.

There was the crevice between the ox and tiger statues, which was a blind spot to pedestrians coming from either direction. There was the seldom-used stairwell leading to the astronomy deck, since the only people who visited the astronomy deck were the half-blind, mostly-deaf oracle and Keiji himself. There was the dusty gazebo at the edge of the topiary gardens, though Keiji’s younger brother had recently discovered it, therefore nullifying its usefulness as a hideout.

Keiji’s favorite spot was the weeping willow a half-mile deep in the forest. The willow was as old as three generations. Its limbs stretched out like a parasol. Rays of sunlight dappled through its wispy, tearlike leaves. Keiji would spend hours in his little crook between the roots, reading. Years ago, his father had a small wooden swing installed for him. It had been a long time since a child’s laughter filled the clearing.

The weather today was pleasant and balmy. The wind caused the leaves to rustle, a gentle shower of sound. His horse Kokuei, tied to another tree, was unusually relaxed.

By his own estimation, he’d probably been lying in this spot for an hour and a half. It was usually around this time that Tetsurou came for him. He held his finger between two pages and waited, listening. Another horse’s steps thundered, faintly at first, then louder. Kokuei shuffled in place and snorted.

“Your grace,” Tetsurou called. Keiji rested his book face-down on his chest, lifting his head to look.

“My father calls for me?”

Tetsurou nodded and steadied his horse. “He wishes for you to oversee Prince Tobio’s lessons.”

Keiji sighed. He closed his eyes and savored the splashes of light that dropped on his face. Tetsurou was patient as ever. After a minute—no more, no less—Keiji stood, tucked his book under his arm, and mounted his horse. He trotted to match pace with Tetsurou. They headed back to the castle.

○

Keiji didn’t truly mind spectating his younger brother’s lessons. A majority of the time he was left to his own devices, able to read a novel or look over reports from different parts of the kingdom, and still monitored Tobio’s progress. 

Though he was only fourteen, Tobio was remarkably bright. He took to mathematics, chemistry, and the miscellaneous sciences well. History, however, bored him—unlike Keiji, who found stories of political intrigue and war important, if not gripping. Tobio was even a natural at swordplay. Under Iwaizumi’s steady instruction, he blossomed.

A small tent had been set up for Keiji to sit under, providing shade. Tetsurou had been recruited as Tobio’s opponent. General Iwaizumi stood at the edge of the pit, arms crossed, barking directions at the young prince.

“Wider stance, your grace,” said Iwaizumi. Tobio obeyed and lifted his shiny blade. He’d finally graduated from wooden swords. “A steady defense—”

“Begins with a steady foundation,” Tobio finished.

Tetsurou lunged, slower than he would in a real battle. Tobio parried, sidestepped, and swung his arm, pushing the point of Tetsurou’s sword into the dirt.

“Good,” said Iwaizumi.

They ran through several more drills: thrusting, disarming, parrying, advancing, retreating. All the while Keiji sat, turning page after page. 

The sun crept across the sky. Tobio’s gangly limbs sweat profusely. Iwaizumi had moved from his spot, once again demonstrating the proper way to parry.

“Oh, General!” chittered several voices in unison.

Keiji turned, as did the three men in the dirt. A group of women had gathered by the edge of the grounds, holding small plates of dessert, or parasols, or handkerchiefs.

“Hello, Ser Kuroo!” they trilled.

“Afternoon, ladies,” Testurou said, holding up a hand. Iwaizumi simply tipped his head.

A lady stepped forward from the fray; the pack leader. “Afternoon, Prince Keiji.” Lady Hana was looking directly at him.

Keiji gave a curt nod. “Good afternoon.”

“Your grace, we’d love to see you spar!”

“Ah.” He closed his mouth and fiddled with the corner of a page.

“His grace would be a hindrance to Prince Tobio’s training, in truth,” Tetsurou cut in. “Perhaps later, when he’s done with the reports.”

Keiji flicked his gaze to Tetsurou. _Hindrance?_ His guard needed to work on his word choice.

“I see, Ser.” Hana fluttered the fan in her grasp. “Well then, your grace, would you happen to know where the princess is?”

“Princess Miwa?” Keiji scanned the group of women. His wife was nowhere to be seen. “No, she didn’t tell me of her plans today.”

Hana closed the fan and tapped the end on her rouged cheek. “Oh, I remember! I believe she went to see the Miyas.”

“The Miyas,” Keiji repeated.

“Yes, yes. Perhaps to paint with Lady Saeko, or play _gungi_ with Lord Osamu. He’s quite a skilled player, the princess says.”

Keiji said nothing. The gall of this woman, in front of the general, Keiji’s sworn shield, and Tobio. He angled his body away from the women and waved a hand in dismissal. “Thank you for letting me know. Have a nice evening.”

Lady Hana made a small _hmph_ sound. “Likewise, your grace. Come along, girls.”

The women curtsied and left—or so Keiji assumed, because he was glaring at the book in his lap. _Time and place_ , he reminded himself. His younger brother was looking to him for example.

“Let’s continue, your grace,” said Iwaizumi to Tobio. “If you do these drills well, perhaps I’ll teach you how to fistfight tomorrow.”

“Fistfighting!” Tobio’s face lit up.

“Yes. Now, let’s begin,” said Iwaizumi. 

Tobio readied his sword. Tetsurou fixed his stance as well.

“Advance!”

The blades clashed, ringing in the shimmering air.

○

At dinner that night, Keiji studied his wife. Father was busy asking Tobio about his training.

Miwa looked as graceful as ever. Her dark tresses were coiled, not a strand out of place. Her neck was spotless, as far as Keiji could tell. She didn’t seem flustered, though it had been several hours since her alleged visit to the Miyas’.

“Is something on my face, Keiji?” she murmured, too low for the emperor to hear. Her eyes flicked up: a challenge.

“No.” Keiji’s gaze returned to his plate. “Lady Terushima says you went to visit Lady Miya today. Or was it Lord Miya?”

Miwa’s chopsticks froze on the way to her mouth—nearly imperceptibly, but Keiji was perceptive indeed. “Yes. Lady Saeko and I played _gungi_ for a while.”

“And Lord Miya?”

Miwa lifted a shoulder. “Off hunting, I assume, or perhaps the stables. He wasn’t with us.”

“I see.”

“Prince Keiji,” came his father’s gravelly voice. Keiji turned to him. “Tell me of the progress on the Ryuichi Canal.”

Keiji swallowed. He made a mental note to visit Kozume tomorrow—Kozume would know—and obeyed his father.

○

Each guard stationed along the wall bowed their head as Keiji strode past them. Tetsurou was at his heels, armor clinking. Keiji pushed open the door to Kozume’s study.

“My lord Kozume,” he said. The man in question looked up from his desk scattered with slips of paper.

“Your grace,” Kozume replied. Keiji settled into the chair across from him, while Tetsurou browsed the various tomes on the shelves. “You’ve come to hear what you’ve known for weeks now?”

“Don’t mock me,” Keiji snapped.

“I’m not. I know it assures you to have a second pair of ears. Or, dozens, counting my little birds.”

As an excellent judge of character, and equipped with some of the best instincts Keiji had ever seen, Kozume was a skilled Master of Secrets. His role on the Council was to weed out the dissenters against the king’s reign, but he often relayed palace gossip rather than intrigue. Kozume's sharpness was akin to a high-ranking military strategist. He had little physical strength, however, and had never received formal training.

He more than made up for it with his legion of birds. Servants and guards reported what they heard to him, and Kozume, in turn, reported to Keiji.

Keiji chewed on his lip. “Please just tell me what they’re saying.”

Kozume sifted through the papers. “Would you like names?”

“Preferably.”

Kozume lifted one, about the length of his palm. Keiji held onto the hems of his sleeves and braced himself. “Lord Terushima said he’d never seen you pick up a sword in his life.”

“Untrue, Prince Keiji,” said Tetsurou from his corner. “We sparred not two days ago.”

“ _I know that_ ,” Keiji said. “Please continue, Kozume.”

“Lady Terushima said your nose is always in a book. So did Lady Moniwa and her husband. Lord Semi said you had a spine as sturdy as a koinobori. Lord Kawanishi agreed.”

“What are they saying about Miwa?”

“These get quite vulgar, your grace.”

“I don’t care.”

He’d lived through his mother’s death, and the ordeal his father put him through afterward. _Nothing more than a concubine,_ the court had said, _she was the real whore_.

Keiji could handle anything. “You may forego the names. I don’t want to have anyone strangled in their sleep.”

“If you insist.” Kozume grabbed a clump and cleared his throat. He began to read them one-by-one. “The princess has found herself under a spell, and its caster is Lord Miya’s cock.”

Tetsurou made a choking sound behind them. He subsequently hacked a string of coughs.

“Did you have to begin with that one?” Keiji said through his teeth.

Kozume had the decency to look away. “Apologies. Ahem. Prince Keiji’s bedroom has probably been dry for a month now. Prince Keiji has a fish under his omeshi. Lord Osamu must have an impressive sword under his.”

“By the gods, do they all have to be about what’s under our clothing!” Keiji was thankful he hadn’t asked for names.

“The only things the court finds interesting are sex, new desserts, and money,” Kozume said. “Would you like me to read more?”

Keiji narrowed his eyes. “I think you find a deranged pleasure in relaying me their slander.”

“It’s only my job, your grace.”

“It’s true, then?” Keiji said. “Miwa’s entered another man’s bed.”

“Yes, your grace. She’s almost always in the Miyas’ apartments.”

“Alright.” He closed his eyes. “Alright.” 

“Prince Keiji,” Kozume said. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you do anything about her? Or Lord Miya?”

Keiji hesitated. “That wouldn’t be… honorable.”

Tetsurou appeared beside the desk and leaned against it. He scoffed. “ _Committing adultery_ isn’t honorable, your grace.”

Still, Keiji shook his head. “I have to know why she did it. I’ll act when I’m ready.”

“If that day ever comes.” Tetsurou’s eyes were pitiful.

Keiji disliked the look. He stood, sweeping his robes around him. “It will. Thank you, Kozume. Burn those,” he said, glancing at the slips of paper.

“Of course.” Kozume was already gathering them into his hands.

Keiji wasn’t worried, leaving the room. The paper would turn into ash, but the words would remain in Kozume’s mind until the day Keiji commanded otherwise.

○

Keiji knew it was within his rights to take a lover. Plenty of noblemen and women did it, and he was as high-ranking a noble one could get. His own father had taken a mistress for the majority of Keiji’s life.

Kageyama Yua, Tobio’s mother, had been Emperor Ryouta’s paramour for fifteen years. Some called her his “greatest love,” and believed Tobio was proof of that. When Keiji married Miwa, they saw it as the Emperor fulfilling his fantasies through his son.

The thought of straying from his marriage bed left a bad taste in Keiji’s mouth. It hurt to know that Miwa had done so.

He had come to the conclusion that Miwa had taken a lover even before Kozume confirmed it. Their marriage had never been a passionate one to start with, but he’d thought—he’d hoped—that she would afford him the same respect he gave her. They’d played together as children, after all, and aside from Keiji’s mother, Miwa was the woman who knew him best.

Keiji had done his duty. They didn’t have an heir, yet, but they tried every month. Three weeks ago, he had slipped into Miwa’s chambers and found her distant beneath him. Afterward, she’d wrapped her robe around herself and curled away. Her face was shuttered. “Thank you, Keiji,” she’d whispered. She closed her eyes and said nothing else.

Suspicion took root. When the court began to whisper, suspicion bloomed. After one visit to Kozume’s study, suspicion bore bitter fruit.

He refused to do what his father and wife had done. It was beneath him, and dishonorable besides. Prince Keiji would not take a lover.

○

Lord Miya Osamu had only been at court for two months. His twin, Commander Atsumu, had been Hyogo’s representative prior, but when the war effort began, he summoned his brother in his stead.

The lords and ladies of the Owl Court found the newcomer and his wife very exciting. Osamu was calmer, quieter than his brother, though Keiji had no doubt he was just as shrewd. Within his first week of arrival, he had showcased his skills in falconry, hunting, riding, and martial arts. Lord Ushijima and General Iwaizumi, the two reigning champions in the wrestling bracket, had taken a liking to him. Tetsurou had, as well, until the rumors began.

Keiji, on horseback at the top of the hill, could see Lord Miya at the edge of the dirt pit, waiting for his next opponent.

“They’ve already begun,” said Tetsurou next to Keiji.

“Yes.”

In the center, Iwaizumi and Ushijima circled one another. Though the general was shorter, he possessed a viper-like skill and speed, and could easily overtake Ushijima. When Iwaizumi darted forward, Keiji dismounted his horse and began down the hill.

That morning, Keiji had met with the emperor’s council to discuss raising taxes and therefore could not compete in the bracket. The other lords probably saw his absence as cowardice, his meeting with Nekomata as an excuse. He tried not to let it bother him. All he did was for the good of the kingdom, and their words were only words.

Keiji joined the contest grounds with little fanfare. Some noblemen nodded their heads at him. Miwa was sitting on a plush bench, watching the face-off intently. “All is well?” she asked when she spotted him. He nodded, took a seat beside her, and bent forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. Tetsurou stood at Keiji’s back.

Iwaizumi had his legs folded around Ushijima’s middle, pinning his arms to his sides, and Ushijima’s neck in his elbow. “Yield,” Iwaizumi said, tightening his chokehold. Ushijima was flushed with exertion, his face pinched in determination, but he tapped the ground three times. Iwaizumi released him with a feral grin. Ushijima stood with his characteristic dignity. The men bowed to each other, and the spectators clapped. Ushijima left the ring, grabbing his shirt from a black-haired squire.

“Who’s next?” Iwaizumi said, spreading his arms out.

Lord Miya pushed off from the fence and raised a hand. “That would be me, General.”

“The newcomer.” Iwaizumi wiped the perspiration from his brow. “You’ve not faced me yet, have you?”

Miya shed his black tunic. The muscles in his back rippled. “No, I haven’t.” He shook his wrists out and flexed his fists, moving to the center. “I have plenty of practice wrestling, however. I grew up with a twin brother.”

“Let’s see if your resolve is stronger than mine, then,” said Iwaizumi, readying his stance.

The men prowled the ring like two panthers. Keiji slid his eyes to the side, watching his wife. Miwa’s face was impassive. She had been fanning herself for the past fifteen minutes. Her expression was a mask—one Keiji had become increasingly used to seeing.

Lords and ladies shouted their encouragement and jeered suggestions. Miya was good, but he was no match for the general. Iwaizumi had him facedown, arm twisted behind his back, in a matter of minutes.

“I yield,” choked Miya. Iwaizumi grinned and let him up. They both glistened with sweat.

“Well-fought, my lord,” said Iwaizumi. “Perhaps next time you’ll last more than three minutes.”

Some ladies giggled. Miya’s cheeks pinked. Keiji glanced at his wife again. Her face hadn’t changed.

“I hope so, general.” Another steward handed Miya a clean cloth. He dabbed the sweat from his shoulders.

Lord Hanamaki stepped forward and threw a tunic to the general, a flash of teal in the air. “Iwaizumi wins again. What a surprise.”

More laughter from the crowd.

A hand brushed Keiji’s thigh. He looked at Miwa questioningly. “The game tomorrow is archery,” she said. “The emperor says he’ll watch. Will you play?”

Keiji nodded. “Of course.” He had always been a skilled archer, even on horseback. Better than he was at swordplay, or in a contest of brute strength, at least. Tomorrow he’d be fearless.

○

The arrow flew. An apple toppled from its perch on a wooden post, shot clean through. Cheers erupted, and Lord Miya smiled with half his mouth. He saluted the crowd.

Keiji clapped along. He watched as Lady Saeko pressed a kiss to her husband’s cheek. Miya handed his bow to a young, bright-eyed steward, and returned to spectate. He looked in Keiji’s direction. Keiji averted his eyes before they could meet.

There were only three other contestants left before Keiji was to try his hand. The next in the contest was Ser Taketora. He stood side-face, nocked an arrow, pulled his arm back, and released. The arrow just missed the apple by inches. A sad groan rose, followed by polite clapping. Yamamoto rubbed his forehead and walked away.

Fukunaga was next. The point of his arrow skimmed the top of the apple, unable to knock it over. 

After him was Inuoka. His arrow embedded itself into the goalpost.

Tobio wasn’t allowed to compete today, instead charged with assisting Keiji. He was growing taller by the day, but the bow still seemed comically big for him as he scurried forward. Keiji took hold of the wood, felt its weight in his hand.

“Good luck,” Miwa whispered, urging him forward with a touch between his shoulder blades.

He nodded and made his way to the center. A servant rushed to place another fruit atop the post and rip out the arrow still puncturing it. Keiji fitted his arrow in the notch, took a deep breath, and raised the bow, pulling his arm back as he did so. He pictured the iron tip flying through the air and piercing the middle of the apple.

A puff of air. He loosed. A nearby tree rustled with the impact. Halfway up its trunk, sweet juice dripped from a tiny red body.

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” called Miwa.

Keiji lowered his bow. The lords and ladies were clapping. He bent at the waist with a stiff smile.

The emperor stood from his box. Lady Kageyama was holding his hand. Everyone turned to listen. “Only Lord Miya and the crown prince managed to hit their fruit,” he announced. “Though I’d say the prince won that round. Do you concede, Lord Miya?”

Miya dipped his head. “I request a rematch from his grace. With the target of the emperor’s choice.”

Keiji gritted his teeth.

“Excellent idea!” Father said. He considered the courtyard where they were all gathered. Then he pointed. “You there, boy. Stand in front of that tree. Lift your arm.”

The servant boy did as he was told. The sleeve of his hakama dangled in front of the trunk.

“Whoever hits the tree closest to his arm without maiming him wins.”

The air shifted. The poor boy was already sweating in fear. Keiji’s blood rushed in alarm. His father wanted him to play such cruel games. _Find that backbone of yours, my son._

“As his grace wishes,” said Miya. He retrieved his bow and quiver and came back to stand next to Keiji. They were of a height, though Miya was bulkier. “The prince may have the first shot.”

Keiji clenched his jaw, then nodded. “If you would step back.”

Miya did.

Inhale, exhale. It was no mystery as to why his father had chosen this particular target. Keiji could shoot this arrow and let a poor boy keep his arm, if not his life.

He studied the breeze, the distance from his spot to the boy, the lightness of the arrow. The bend of the boy’s brown sleeve— _there_. Keiji raised his arm, stretched the string back. His heart thundered in his chest. He couldn’t hold too long, or his bow arm would waver.

“Hold still, sweetling,” Keiji called out. A murmur rose from the crowd. In the corner of his eye, Miya’s face changed, though Keiji hadn’t the time nor care to decipher it.

This place, this speed, at this moment. He loosed. A _whoosh_. Someone yelped.

The arrow pinned the boy’s sleeve to the trunk, leaving about three fingers’ worth of space. Keiji sighed, sagging his shoulders. Slow clapping rose. He moved aside and nodded at Miya.

Miya took his place. He breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling, and raised his bow. He took aim with both eyes open and held steady. Keiji balled his fists in anticipation.

At the last moment, Miya jerked, and the arrow went flying off-kilter. It impaled harmlessly into the dirt, a body’s length away from the servant’s feet.

“Ah,” Miya said. “The wind.”

Relief and rage warred within Keiji at once. He stepped forward, grabbed Miya’s wrist, earning himself a shocked look.

“How dare you—” Keiji hissed, only to be cut off.

“What a shame!” said Father. “Well, my son wins in the end.”

The thunder in Keiji’s mind receded. He let go of Miya, pulled back, and bowed to his father. “All I do is for the emperor’s glory.”

Father waved a hand. “Yes, yes, archery contests are all very important. Now, let us feast!”

Sounds of excitement flared from the crowd. They began to migrate to the Great Hall, chattering about wind speed and shooting from horseback and other things of which they knew nothing. Keiji remained rooted in place, as did Miya standing before him.

“Your grace, if I’ve offended you—” Miya began.

“You forfeited the competition.”

“I’m not as good an archer as you are. Would you rather me hurt an innocent boy?”

“I would prefer you to face me like a man instead of damaging my pride further.”

“Further?” Miya furrowed his brows. His face fell. “Oh. Your grace, I must explain—”

“Prince Keiji!”

They turned. Miwa was a few feet away, her parasol open. Her eyes were like two blue marbles. Tobio stood behind her, hands extended to take Keiji’s bow. 

“Come, Keiji,” Miwa said. Was he imagining her breathlessness? Ahead of Miwa, Lady Terushima and her husband had also started to watch. “Let us eat.”

The command grated. Today had been very trying on Keiji’s nerves. He looked to the ground and held the bow out for Tobio. “Another time, Lord Miya.”

“May we speak tomorrow, your grace?” Miya said earnestly. Keiji eyed him. “In the morning. I believe the weather will be good for riding.”

Keiji hated it—everyone’s eyes on him. He sighed. It was a conversation that needed to be had. “Very well. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be at the west gate.”

He left with his chin held high, and resisted the urge to stomp away, though Keiji felt very childish indeed. Childish and vindictive.

○

Keiji was free to have his pick of any horses in the stable, but Kokuei was by far his favorite. The horse was dark as night and _strong_. Kokuei was perceptive, responsive to the most subtle of nudges, and had never let Keiji fall before.

“Come on, boy,” Keiji murmured, the leather tack in hand. “It’s early, I know.”

The morning mist had made everything hazy. Servants crossed his path, carrying buckets of water or fresh linens, and bowed to him before hastening away. He led Kokuei to the west gate, finding another man and his horse already waiting.

“You’re here,” said Keiji.

“I had to beat you at something, your grace,” said Miya. He adjusted the saddle of his horse, whose coat was a lovely dark brown. “Did you have a route in mind?”

Keiji fiddled with Kokuei’s bridle. His horse tapped its front hooves along the ground. He normally went to the willow, but that wasn’t an option. “Perhaps along the edge of the forest. Where the tree line meets the meadow.”

“Excellent.” Miya stared at him for a moment, then swung his leg up and over, settling into the saddle. Keiji did the same, equally graceful. “Lead the way, your grace.”

They trotted out of the groaning gate and down the slope. The dirt road was straight and wide. After they passed the small minnow pond, Keiji veered left and made his way, faster, toward the meadow. Miya followed.

The light was growing as the sun inched higher. They reached the edge of the trees, tall and green. Keiji glanced over at Miya. He was looking straight ahead, seemingly content with the chill and silent gray. 

Keiji was suddenly glad that he hadn’t asked Tetsurou to accompany him. His guard had been in a mood last night; only later did Keiji find that the war effort had met a rough patch. General Koutarou and the others were stuck in the valley for at least two more months.

“Your brother,” Keiji said. “Has he written to you of the war?”

To his indignation, Miya started laughing. Keiji scowled.

“Apologies, your grace. It’s just—a headache occurred as soon as I heard ‘your brother,’” Miya said. “Atsumu doesn’t tell me much about the front, and when he does, it’s quite fragmented. I believe Commander Oikawa is the one who writes the official reports, no?”

“He is. Though I hear more details from General Bokuto.” Through Tetsurou, mostly, but that piece of information was inconsequential. 

“Yes, the lightning lord. Atsumu at least appears to be enjoying himself. Two months isn’t very long for a siege, even though they _are_ in a valley.”

“I have faith in Bokuto’s abilities.”

“He’s a good warrior,” Miya agreed. “As are you, your grace. I can’t help but wonder why you’re not at the front, with your skills.”

“Someone needs to run the kingdom. And I have to watch over my brother.”

“Prince Tobio is a bright lad.”

_So am I._ “Yes. Just like his sister.”

Miya’s eyes flickered. His brown horse stuttered.

Keiji set his shoulders. “How fares my wife, Lord Miya?”

“The princess?” Miya arched a brow.

“She says she’s spent much time in your apartments. You must know her well by now.”

“I don’t speak to Princess Miwa often, your grace.”

Probably because they spent all their time together otherwise occupied. Keiji held the reins a little tighter. “As I’m sure the court is well aware, I am not inclined to violence.”

“I believe it. Prince Keiji, yesterday, about the archery contest—”

“I wasn’t finished,” Keiji said. Miya’s mouth shut. “I’m not inclined to violence. But if you lie to me again, I may be forced to strike you.”

A strange look came over Miya’s face. He urged his horse forward and blocked Keiji’s path. Kokuei stumbled to a stop.

“I didn’t lie, your grace,” said Miya. “I don’t lie if I can help it, though gods know I must if I want to survive at court. But I would never lie to a prince.”

“Then I must ask you again,” Keiji pushed through his teeth. “How fares my wife?”

“I wouldn’t know. You would have to ask mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yes. Saeko.” Miya’s face was twisted. It was an expression eerily similar to Keiji’s own, on dark nights alone in his chamber. “You said it yourself. They spend all their time together.”

Miya stared off into the distance, then guided his horse back along their path, parallel to Kokuei.

It was as if Keiji had been dunked into an icy river. “So— the whispers—”

“Are false. Everything they’re saying about you, they should say about me too.”

“But…” Keiji trailed off. His mind reeled. Kozume was _wrong_? His little birds were mistaken? “People say Miwa spends her days with you.”

“People are wrong. I sneak away when the princess visits. It’s rather torturous to listen to them.”

“Where do you go?”

Miya looked sheepish. “The kitchens, your grace.”

The admission was so unexpected that Keiji released a bubble of incredulous laughter. “Better than a brothel, my lord.”

“I suppose.”

“Is there something… wrong with you?” He winced. How poorly phrased.

Miya’s eyes were cutting. “Is there something wrong with _you_?”

“No. I’m sorry,” Keiji said. “Does Lady Saeko know that you know?”

“She suspects, I think. I haven’t spoken to her about it.”

Under Keiji’s thighs, Kokuei trembled. Keiji ran a hand along his dark mane and tried to soothe his horse, though he didn’t know how much help it would be. He felt off-kilter himself and Kokuei had surely detected it.

Waking up this morning, Keiji had been prepared to rage, possibly maim. Now he could do nothing but breathe. The fury had evaporated like a child’s fleeting whims.

Behind them, the sun made its ascent. The gray fog scattered, gave way to clear blue. When they reached the end of the tree line, where only shrubs grew, they slowed to a stop.

“What will you do?” Keiji said quietly.

Miya sighed. “To be frank, I don’t know, your grace.”

“Neither do I.”

Keiji looked at Miya. Miya looked at him. A glance in one’s reflection, on the rippling surface of water.

“Well, Prince Keiji,” Miya Osamu said into the noiseless morning. “I suppose we’ll have to figure it out together.”

“I suppose we shall,” said Keiji. He jerked the reins, guided Kokuei in the opposite direction. Miya did the same.

Together, they made their way back to the castle. The only sound was the horses’ hooves against the dirt. The gears in Keiji’s mind were already turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much for reading!!! idk when part 2 will come. it might be next week, might be in 5 days. who knows :3


	2. The Game of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for waiting!! i listened to [george’s waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-j1K4TiRmI) (from _a single man_ ) + [this playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1JDIN7d0sbbUgpHQZ4qSfr?si=lKkWD3OvQm66UAM3thboMA) while writing.  
> here be lemons. XD enjoy

* * *

The next morning, Keiji led them to a small lounging area behind the east garden, shielded by large rose bushes. Since the tortoise den was built on the southern side of the palace months ago, nobles and servants alike seldom visited this place.

There was a low table with two worn cushions on a wooden platform. Keiji took a seat, folding his legs under him. It was mid-morning. Tetsurou was somewhere near enough to hear Keiji’s shouts if need be, probably writing another letter to Bokuto.

Miya set a wrapped bundle on the table, pulled two bento boxes out, and set one in front of Keiji. Then he placed a pair of chopsticks on top.

“What’s this?” Keiji asked.

“Open it and you’ll see,” Miya said.

Keiji did. The smell of smoked salmon filled his nose. The fish sat on a bed of rice and was accompanied by a heap of pickled vegetables.

He couldn’t rule out the possibility of poison. “Wait!”

Miya glanced up questioningly, chopsticks halfway to his food. “Yes?”

“Switch with me.” Keiji set his chopsticks down and pushed the bento forward.

Miya sighed. “If you insist.” He handed his portion to Keiji.

“Your chopsticks, too.”

Miya closed his eyes, pushed air through his nose once more, and held them out. Keiji took them and began to eat.

The food was excellent—better than anything Keiji remembered eating recently, and he was in the royal family. He frowned. “Did you strike a deal with the cook? Why is this so delicious?”

“There’s no deal, your grace. Only flattery.”

“Hm,” Keiji said. They resumed eating in silence.

When they finished, Keiji wiped his mouth with a cloth. He waited until Miya took a sip from the flask of water before he accepted and had a drink.

Miya smacked his lips and patted his thighs. “My lady mother says that food nourishes not only the body, but the mind.”

“She sounds like a wise woman,” Keiji said.

“Indeed she is. Does your mind feel nourished, your grace?”

“Sufficiently.”

“Shall we commence our planning, then?”

“We shall.” Keiji folded his hands in his lap. “I would like to hear your propositions first.”

“If it please his grace,” Miya said. He fixed Keiji with a vexing look. “I propose we do nothing.”

Keiji stared at him. “Nothing.”

“Yes.”

He glared past Miya’s shoulder to calm himself. “I don’t take kindly to practical jokes. Don’t waste my time.”

“It’s not a practical joke. I’m serious, your grace.”

“Then elaborate before I call for Tetsurou.”

Miya rested his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers. “Lady Saeko and Princess Miwa are sleeping together. Shameful for the two of us, I suppose, but as far as the court knows, you’re bearing the whole of it.”

“And that is not enough reason to put a stop to it?”

“Is pride so important to you?”

“I’m the crown prince,” Keiji said. “This is more than my pride; this is about the honor of my house and rank.”

“The same honor Princess Miwa has tainted? In rumor and truth?”

Keiji said nothing. It was time for a different strategy. “And what of _your_ pride, my lord? Your house’s honor?”

Miya slid his elbows outward until his palms touched the table. “The court thinks of me as a more agreeable version of my brother who managed to charm the princess into his bed within two weeks. Though it’s not strictly honorable, there’s very far for my reputation to fall.”

“So that’s why you wish to do nothing: you have nothing to lose.”

“The damage has already been done; the court believes the first lie. Say we told Miwa and Saeko to stop. What would come of it? With all due respect, your grace, your family doesn’t exactly abound with good examples.”

“Don’t,” Keiji said, low.

“Apologies. Regardless—even if they make love, say, thirty times a day, neither of them could conceive a child. The worst that could happen is their resentment toward us.”

“It never should have happened. Marriage is hardly anyone’s first choice, but we all have a duty to abide by it.”

Miya’s voice was hesitant. “Not everyone is as honorable as you, your grace.”

“How true that is. Twenty years in this palace has taught me that.” He sighed. “I don’t _understand_. I’ve never raised a hand toward her, or degraded her, or acted as though she was beneath me. I am not a cruel husband. And yet…” He trailed off.

“We don’t choose who we love.”

Keiji wanted, suddenly and desperately, to twist away and curl into a ball. Instead, he hid his fists in his sleeves and dug his nails into his palms. “No. I suppose we don’t.” He set his jaw and stood. “I must take my leave. There are duties to attend to.”

Miya stood as well. “You’ll think on what I’ve said?”

“Yes. Fear not, my lord, it’s not in my nature to do anything rash.”

“I believe it.” Miya hesitated. “Your grace, do I have permission to seek you out tomorrow?”

Keiji tilted one shoulder. “You may do what you like.”

“Then I shall see you tomorrow, your grace.”

“If you can find me, my lord.” As he left, he called over his shoulder one last time. “Until we meet again.”

○

The door to the library creaked open. Keiji didn’t bother to glance up from his book. It was about two hours until lunchtime.

“At last,” said Miya Osamu. His heavy footsteps drew closer until they reached the chair opposite Keiji. “You are an elusive person, your grace. And your guard is not very helpful.”

“Tetsurou knows better than to deliver me annoyances,” Keiji said, turning the page. He looked up. Under one of Miya’s arms was a familiar wooden box. 

“Am I an annoyance?” Miya set the box on the low table between them. He unlocked the latch.

“That depends on how this meeting goes.” Keiji slipped a scrap of paper into his current spot and closed the book. He slid from the chair and onto the cushion.

“Where did you search, before finding me here?” he said.

Miya unfolded the _gungi_ board and spread it flat. “The throne room, then the topiary gardens, then the council hall. All proved fruitless.” Of course they were fruitless, there were always too many people milling about those places. “Then I remembered how much you seem to enjoy reading. There are several libraries in the palace, I’m aware, but this is the smallest one.”

This man was shrewd indeed. Keiji separated the black playing pieces from the white and began to arrange them by category to the side. “It only took you—three hours, perhaps?”

“Two. I had other errands to run before.” Miya did the same with his pieces. “People say you’re an excellent strategist. I wish to play until I win.”

Keiji quirked his lip. “We might be here a long while, my lord. Only two people have ever beaten me at _gungi_.”

“Who?”

“My brother,” Keiji said, “and my mother.”

Granted, he’d been ten and barely knew the difference between the cannon and the mortar—but he remembered. They used to sit together in her room and play for hours. She taught him everything he knew.

“Your mother,” Miya repeated. “I’ve heard—”

“I don’t care what you’ve heard,” Keiji said. Miya’s mouth closed; it was the only change on his face. Keiji sighed. “I would just like to play.”

“Of course,” said Miya, recovering. “The prince has the first move.”

Keiji decided to place a pawn. He’d start with a simple attack, not too easy nor difficult. The tiles _click_ ed with each play, a pleasant and stimulating sound.

“I’m surprised Lord Kozume hasn’t beaten you,” Miya noted, a quarter through the game.

“Oh, we’ve never played a full game. _Gungi_ bores him. I’m sure he could decimate me within two minutes.”

“Now I know to stay in his good graces.” Miya placed a catapult across from Keiji’s fortress. “Have you thought about what I said yesterday?”

“I have.” He set a bronze pawn down, then a spy. “I’m going to tell Miwa.”

A tile danced between Miya’s fingers. “Is that wise, your grace?”

“I’m not going to tell her to stop. As you said, it might make her resent me. I’ll tell her what I know and ask her to be careful. Her discretion is better for all of us.”

“Very well.” Miya placed his captain atop the catapult. “I suppose I should tell Saeko, if that is the case.”

“That would be for the best, yes.” Keiji flipped a piece and revealed the dragon king. “Check.”

Miya’s eyes bulged. “How—” He stared at the board, then his remaining pieces, then the board again. It was futile; Keiji had made sure of it. There was nowhere for his king to go. “You win. Let’s try again,” he said, eyes blazing.

Keiji smiled, his first full one in days. “Are you certain? I doubt things will go differently for you.”

“Once more, your grace. My spirit is not so easily broken.”

Keiji was already gathering the tiles. “I’ll show mercy this time.”

“Please don’t. It won’t be satisfying if you hold back.”

“As you wish.” Keiji placed his phoenix. The game began anew.

He won this game without fanfare, and the next was even briefer. At Miya’s childish pout, Keiji actually laughed. Miya was the most pleasant company Keiji had encountered since Konoha left court. If only they’d collided under different circumstances.

○

Keiji caught his wife after dinner. He touched her wrist in the corridor. “I need to speak with you.”

Miwa drew her eyebrows up. The fear in her eyes was nearly imperceptible. It hurt that she looked at him so. “Can it wait, my love? I have—”

“No harm will come to you,” he said, taking her hand. “I promise.”

She exhaled. “In my chamber.”

They walked briskly to her quarters. Inside, she gestured for him to sit on the chaise and poured two glasses of wine. She handed one to him and leaned against the console.

He took a small sip, swirled the red around, and chose his next words carefully. “I know that you’ve been disloyal to me. It hasn’t been a secret for some time.”

Miwa looked away, shame clear on her face. “I tried to stop it. I didn’t even want it to start. But feelings came so quickly, we were in the middle before I could gather my bearings.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

Miwa wet her lips. “Lord Miya and I.”

Keiji knew in an instant. “You must care for Lady Saeko very much, to protect her like this.”

“Saeko?” The name from her mouth was soft, precious. “What does Saeko have to do with…” She trailed off and sighed.

“Let’s not lie to one another.” He put his goblet down. “I have loved you, believe me, but it has never been the love a man should have for his wife.”

“I feel the same,” she whispered. She placed her wine behind her and came to sit beside him, took his hand in her lap. “I’m sorry. Truly, I’m sorry. The shame you’ve suffered because of me… Forgive me.”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I want you to be happy, Miwa. I can deal with what they say about us. We know the truth, and nothing else matters to me. As long as you’re careful and discreet.”

Miwa stroked his cheek. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Keiji.”

“You’ve met Tobio, haven’t you?” he said wetly.

She laughed and hugged him. “Tobio is still a boy, he doesn’t count. He will dethrone you soon enough.”

He swallowed. “Do you love her?”

“I do.”

“Tell me about her.”

She pulled away. Her eyes glittered like sapphires. “She is like the summer festival, a hundred firecrackers against the night sky.”

“Tell me more.”

He listened to her for a long time, feeling much like a wishing well that would never know the wonders of its own making.

○

In the days following, a shadow began to invade Keiji’s free time. In the library, he was coerced into playing game after game of _gungi_. In the garden, he was fed an alarming amount of food. In the astronomy tower, he was asked to describe dozens of constellations. Keiji sent Tetsurou away when his shadow arrived, granting him the freedom to speak with Kozume or train with the other knights.

Miwa was happier these days. Keiji no longer saw the need to ask Kozume about the whispers of the court. Between council meetings and overseeing Tobio’s training and mindless conversations with lords and ladies, he learned that it was easy to get to know a man. Miya Osamu was significantly less annoying than his brother and had an appreciation for silence, not unlike Keiji. He still hadn’t won at _gungi_ , but he’d come close once, in a game that lasted over an hour.

Today, the archery yard was abandoned but for a few servants and a lord in black. “Good afternoon, your grace,” said Miya, leaning on a post.

“Afternoon, my lord.” Keiji walked past him to the fletcher and handed the woman his quiver. She inspected each point, then the shafts. “Have you come to be beaten again?”

“I may win against you. As long as you don’t place a servant boy in front of the target.”

The fletcher, satisfied, handed the quiver back to Keiji. He walked out and to the end line, where a bullseye sat some fifty paces away. “Have no fear. All our targets will be inanimate.”

“Best out of fifteen?” Miya took the spot beside him.

“I accept.” Keiji nocked the first arrow, pictured it hitting the center, and let it fly.

“Good shot,” said Miya.

Keiji glanced over. Miya faced him, completely focused. “You weren’t even looking.”

Miya turned his head to the target. “Good shot,” he repeated, drawing an arrow of his own. He was good, but not as good as Keiji. He spent too much time aiming and not enough time deciding to win. Keiji reached eight before he did.

“Another round, your grace,” Miya said. “Best of nine.”

Keiji won that, too. After his loss, Miya wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and smiled crookedly. “I should stop setting myself up for failure.”

“The problem is that you choose games you are certain to lose, my lord.” Keiji trudged back to the equipment and hooked his bow on the rack. Miya followed. “If we fought with swords, you would probably win.”

“Will you meet me in the yard tomorrow, then?”

Keiji turned to meet Miya’s eager eyes. “Prepare yourself for a poor opponent. In early morning; I want to spar before the sun is high.”

“Surely his grace is not as poor a swordsman as he thinks.”

“We’ll see.” Keiji nodded before he departed. “Have a pleasant evening, Lord Miya.”

○

His katana was specially made to be light and swift. He had never done well with heavy blades. When he reached the yard, Miya was practicing forms in silence.

“Good morning,” Keiji called.

Miya paused in his movements and bowed to him. “Good morning, your grace. Before we begin, I have a wager to make. Or, rather than a wager, a request.”

Keiji came to stand in the dirt. “Speak freely.”

“If I win,” Miya said, fingers caressing the hilt of his sword, “I ask that you no longer call me _Miya_.”

Keiji raised an eyebrow. “What should I call you instead?”

“Osamu.”

His pulse skipped a beat. “That can be arranged. If you win.”

Miya widened his stance and unsheathed his sword. “First to draw blood?”

Keiji slid his katana out slowly. “Don’t cut too deep, my lord.”

They circled each other. Keiji was taught to have the first strike—so he lunged, thrust, only to be swept to the side. Miya was stronger than him, that was clear, but Keiji was fast. He darted left to right and back, always watching Miya’s wolf-eyes for the next move. Their blades clashed, retreated, and he saw the difference between his training and the training administered in Hyogo. His heart hammered like a war-drum. Keiji was fast, but Miya was better.

It ended with the tip of a blade under Keiji’s chin. He breathed heavily, carefully. A pinpoint of pain throbbed on his arm. It was the faintest cut; the blood was barely there.

Miya withdrew and sheathed his sword. “You put up a good fight, your grace.”

“The gods did not bless me with brawn,” Keiji sighed.

“So they gave you an abundance of wit to make up for it.”

“You flatter me,” he paused. “Lord Osamu.”

Miya’s grin was like baring teeth. Strangely, the sight would not leave Keiji’s mind for the rest of the day. 

○

Outside his father’s apartments, he spotted Lady Yua, and nearly turned on his heel right then. Her black eyes pinned on him and kept him in place.

“Prince Keiji, sweetling!” She waved a hand for him to draw close. Her ladies-in-waiting dispersed.

He knew better than to let the annoyance show on his face. He walked stiffly over to her and bowed. “My lady.”

She hooked an arm through his own. Objectively, her jasmine perfume was pleasant—but Keiji no longer liked the scent. “I’d just like to warn you: your father is in an unpleasant mood. The Master of Coin said that an elephant room was a poor idea.”

“Ah.” That. Thank the gods for Washijo’s sensibility.

“I tried to help him relax as best I could,” Yua said with a smirk. “It worked for a time. Now he is sour again.”

“Thank you for the warning, my lady.”

“Good luck, sweetling,” she crooned. She released his arm and twirled away. “Tell my Tobio to visit me!”

She was gone before he could respond. He brushed where she’d held his sleeve with his hand, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Keiji pushed the door open. Father was at his desk, drinking wine. Keiji approached and placed the letters in his hand onto the table.

“These are the reports from the war front that you requested,” he said.

Father didn’t look at him. He merely took a sip from his cup. “I heard a rather troubling rumor about Miwa.”

 _Gods, no._ “About Miwa, your grace?”

“That she’s taken a lover.”

“Untrue,” Keiji said immediately. “I heard of this rumor myself, before—”

“If you heard of it before, Prince Keiji, tell me why it has reached my ears,” the emperor boomed. “Why have you not snuffed it out?”

“Your grace, I cannot control what others say—”

A _crash!_ sounded as Father swept everything off the desk and stood, heaving. “You cannot? _You cannot?_ You could have exiled the originator of this filthy lie, had them killed, made them disappear.”

He swallowed. “I am unsure of who first spread this rumor, your grace.”

Father glared at him. Keiji wanted to shrink, but he kept his shoulders wide, for he knew it would displease the emperor otherwise. Finally, Father sunk back into his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why have the gods cursed me with a feeble son, when I prayed for a warrior?”

Keiji knelt and began to gather the fallen papers. _Don’t cry, you idiot._

“This is because the princess is still not with child. Do you even fuck her?”

“We’ve tried, your grace. We try all the time.” He aligned the stacks of paper, stood, and slid them onto the desk.

“You will _try harder_. For Miwa’s sake I hope that cock of yours works,” Father said.

Keiji clenched his jaw and said nothing.

Father waved a hand. “Leave me.”

He bowed and backed away. “Your grace.”

It was difficult not to outright run out of the study. He was twenty years old, not eight, and crown princes did not cry. Through the halls he went, until he found a place devoid of all others, and sagged against the wall.

He wanted to pound his fists against the stone and scream, to let out the storm brewing inside him. All he could afford to do was grit his teeth, close his eyes, and rest his forehead against the column. Breath after heaving breath he drew, until the inferno of his heart became an ember.

“Your grace?”

He lifted his head. Osamu was there, a stone’s throw away. Keiji looked away. “Not now.”

“What ails you?”

“Everything,” Keiji spat, crossing his arms. “My father most of all. He…”

Strange, how words could still hurt. Keiji was long immune to the whispers of the court, yet hearing them from his father was a thousand times worse Osamu merely tilted his head, waiting.

“He called me weak. He said, ‘For Miwa’s sake I hope that cock of yours works.’” 

“You’re not weak,” Osamu said, swiftly and fiercely.

Keiji eyed him. His thick brows were drawn together, his wide shoulders set with tension, his fists balled at his sides. Keiji let out a humorless puff of air. “The emperor believes otherwise.”

“You’re not weak. Your wit, your prudence, your cleverness. Physical strength is not all that makes a man.”

“Perhaps not. But being a cuckold may unmake one.”

Osamu grabbed his wrists and tugged them up, chest-level. His grip was unyielding. “We’re in the same boat. Childless cuckolds. Am I not a man?”

“You overstep, my lord.” Osamu was too close. Keiji could feel the heat of his body.

The hold tightened. “Am I not a man?”

“You are,” Keiji gritted out.

Osamu didn’t move. His dark eyes matched the storm inside Keiji. “You’re the prince. You can do anything you want, and more. You could banish me for my insolence. Strip me of my land and title. I’d be ruined. Will you?”

“Of course not.” Loathe as he was to say it, Osamu was one of his only friends at court.

“You could punish your wife for her infidelity, parade her naked through the city as whore, as many princes before you have done. Though I don’t believe you will, because only weak men harm their wives.”

“It makes my blood boil to even hear the suggestion.”

Osamu’s face was so, so close. “You could take a lover,” he said, voice low. “Or two, or a whole harem.”

Keiji swallowed.

“It only takes one,” Osamu continued. “Elevate them, treasure them, love them, and make everyone who has ever wronged you see the truth.”

Keiji tore his gaze from Osamu’s mouth, to his eyes. Somehow they were both focused and unfocused. His pupils were dilated, lids heavy, and yet the brown was as deep as a forest. “The truth?” Keiji said.

“Their foolishness. They call you names, say you’re too bookish, or girlish, yet they forget. It doesn’t matter what they say about you. You have more power in your ring finger than they ever will their whole lives.” Osamu leaned forward. Keiji held his breath. The next words went straight into his ear. “You should remind them, your grace.”

Keiji allowed his eyes to fall shut, if only for a moment. He swallowed and stared at the ceiling high above them. “You’ve made your point, my lord.”

The body against him stiffened. Osamu stepped away, letting his wrists go. He searched Keiji’s face. His eyes cleared, then became stricken. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

Keiji exhaled slowly. In the corner, Tetsurou slipped through the archway and stayed there, watching. “Go. I’ll forget about this slight, if you will as well.”

Osamu bowed, moving further back. “As you wish.” He didn’t meet Keiji’s eyes as he straightened. “Good evening, your grace.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, quiet as a fox.

Keiji closed his eyes and leaned back. Since coming to court, Osamu had caused him nothing but trouble.

○

That night, Keiji tossed and turned. After an hour, he stood, lit a candle, and wrote on a slip of parchment.

“Deliver this to Lord Miya,” he told the guard stationed outside his door. The guard nodded and went off. Keiji returned to his bed, let his heart race until it burned out. Then he slept.

_We’ll go riding tomorrow. Don’t be late._

○

Osamu was already there when Keiji arrived with Kokuei in tow. He cast hesitant eyes at Keiji, then back to his horse. “The usual route, your grace?”

“No,” Keiji said, mounting. “Somewhere we’ve not gone before.”

He tugged the reins to the side and began the familiar path towards the willow. They went in silence. For once, Keiji was a beacon of calm. Osamu followed without question, absorbing the novel surroundings.

The journey took not half an hour. “Just past the cluster of trees, there,” Keiji said, pointing. He went first through the narrow pass. Osamu trailed behind.

Stepping into the clearing always washed Keiji with a pure feeling. There was something about the wide, encompassing branches, the rustling of the leaves, the lush and ancient green.

“This spot is my favorite,” he said. He dismounted and led Kokuei to the same tree he always tethered the horse to. Osamu was right behind him. “Only Ser Tetsurou knows how much I love it. My father as well, many years ago. Perhaps he’s forgotten by now.”

“And me,” said Osamu. Keiji looked up from his fiddling hands. “I know, now.”

“Yes, you do.” Keiji secured the knot and turned to the willow. “Don’t tell anyone else.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

They walked slowly to the tree. The morning was only slightly chilly; the leaves made a gentle shower of sound. It gave Keiji a sense of clarity. “You may explore,” he said. “I already know every inch of this clearing.”

“Not quite,” Osamu murmured. He looked away and, before Keiji could ask, moved past him to touch the trunk. He brought a hand up to caress its bark, test the give of its limbs. Then he circled to the other side of the tree, disappearing behind its bulk.

Keiji closed his eyes for a moment. _It only takes one_.

There was a reason he’d taken them here. He took a deep breath and marched to the other side.

Osamu looked up. He’d been examining a groove in the trunk from which sap flowed. The green of the forest surrounded him. Keiji stepped forward, into his space. Osamu’s eyes widened.

Keiji’s hand was steady as it came up. With a grip neither too gentle nor too firm, he held Osamu’s chin in his fingers. Pink lips parted. They scarcely breathed. Osamu’s eyes were the same as yesterday afternoon—dark and focused and hazy all at once.

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at Keiji with desire.

Effortlessly, he leaned forward and pressed their mouths together. Osamu was frozen beneath him. His lips were soft and plush.

Keiji pulled away. His face tingled. He stared into Osamu’s black pupils, which had dilated even further.

“Your grace,” Osamu said, low.

“Keiji,” he whispered. “My name is Keiji.”

“Keiji.”

Then large hands circled his waist and pulled him close and they were kissing again.

Keiji had only kissed three other people in his life. Koutarou kissed like it was a game, Tetsurou kissed like he was waiting for directions, and Miwa kissed like she wanted it to be over.

Osamu kissed like he was having a taste of the sweetest wine—licking the seam of Keiji’s mouth, coaxing it open further, memorizing the flavor of him. He tugged Keiji against his solid body and held him tight. Keiji moved his shaky hands to Osamu’s jaw, and as their tongues touched, wound his arms around Osamu’s neck and brought them even closer.

He listened to their hitched breathing, the barely-there rumple of clothing, the smacking of their lips. Above them the tree was whispering. Osamu pushed him against the trunk, caging him in, and shoved a thigh between his legs. Keiji tilted his hips, not quite moving against it, but not pulling away either. They kissed for what seemed like hours.

It was the best kiss Keiji had ever experienced. It terrified him. He was drowning in this sensation, heady and consuming.

Their mouths broke apart. Osamu moved to his neck and the first swipe of his tongue made Keiji jolt. He blinked up at the green and gasped for air, wound his fingers through Osamu’s dark locks, and tugged. “Osamu,” he said.

Osamu lifted his head and stared into Keiji’s eyes, assessing.

“It’s raining,” he said. He raised his hand to Keiji’s cheek and brushed away the damp. “Here. What’s wrong? Do I displease his grace?”

Keiji’s lower lip wobbled. Another tear fell, to his shame. “You’re the first person I’ve truly wanted in years.”

“You can have me.”

“I’m afraid it’ll make me just like _him_.”

“You are nothing like him. You run this country. You’ve been scorned and mocked, yet you have never let them break you. You’re stunning and brilliant and more than any of us deserve.”

He wanted to believe it, so badly. “I fear if I let myself have you, I will have lost.”

“Lost what? This game of love we’re playing? I’m no great prize, but you have won me all the same.” Osamu tilted closer. Keiji cupped his jaw. “Has anyone ever made love to you? Shown you passion in its purest form? Worshipped your body as it’s meant to be worshipped? Has anyone ever loved you the way you deserve?”

“No.” And what a shame that was.

“Then I will be the first.” Osamu grabbed Keiji’s hand and placed it on his chest. “These lungs are so that I may draw breath and speak to you. These eyes, so that I may look at you. These lips,” he took two of Keiji’s fingertips into his mouth, “so that I may kiss you. You will know love until you are so filled with it, it must burst from your skin like rays of light.”

“Is that possible?” He had never felt a love like that. It was only in the stories.

Osamu pressed their foreheads together. “I shall force it into existence. When you wake each morning, it will rival the sun rising in the east.” 

Keiji made a miserable, desperate sound. “Promise me.”

“I swear it. You will never feel unloved again.” Osamu surged forward to seal it with a kiss.

○

When Keiji was nine, the year before his mother passed, she took him to see the ocean. He’d built castles on the sand, chased seagulls down the shore, played in the foamy waves. His mother looked radiant in the sun, smiling, her hair dark and straight and long like a single stroke of ink.

One day, he ventured too far into the sea. He wanted to collect fresh kelp for his portrait of Father in the sand. His back was to the waves, and when a large one came, it swept him away. Lord Yamiji had been the one to save him.

He still remembered the churning water that tossed him about like a leaf in the wind. How he’d tumbled back and forth, painful saltwater shooting up his nose, the way sound was both faint and overpowering. He had shivered and wailed in Yamiji’s arms and told his mother he was sorry.

 _Is that what love feels like?_ Keiji wondered now, as Osamu moved and moaned above him. Many things were different from back then—the tight, searing heat around Keiji’s cock, namely—but the drops of sweat glistening on their skin were almost like the spray of seawater. Both experiences shared a single, overpowering sensation, one that took hold of you and did not relent. Both made him feel guilty toward his mother. Keiji felt like he’d been dropped headfirst into the deep.

The day after their kiss beneath the willow, they’d played _gungi_ in Keiji’s apartments, and after that, Keiji pushed the board to the side and crawled into Osamu’s lap and kissed him. _What does his grace desire_ , Osamu said. _I would like to see you fall apart_ , Keiji said. It took nothing to slip his hand beneath Osamu’s trousers and stroke him until his mouth fell open in a groan. The taste of his seed was bitter. Osamu seemed to like the sight of it on Keiji’s fingers.

The next day Osamu took him to the garden. _Have you ever fucked a man, your grace_ , he said. _I have not_ , Keiji said, and Osamu pulled him back to the castle and showed him the particular pleasure of opening a man up with your fingers and then your cock and having him squeeze around you like a vice.

It happened again, and again, and now, Keiji planted his feet firmly on the ground and drove into his lord with abandon.

“Yes, ah, harder,” Osamu moaned. Keiji relished the way his shoulders flexed as he hunched forward. The strength, his to wield.

“Give in to it,” Keiji said. “I won’t stop fucking you until I come.” 

“Gods,” Osamu gasped, and then he spilled all over his hand and Keiji’s belly. He clenched around Keiji, so tight it was hard to move. “Go on, use me.” His strong thighs were still holding him up.

Keiji wound his arms around Osamu’s waist and pounded into him until fearsome pleasure swept over him like a wave and he shot into that secret heat.

It had to be unpleasant, yet Osamu’s eyes closed in bliss. “ _Yes_ ,” he hissed, and when Keiji’s breath returned to him, Osamu crashed their mouths together. He sang praises between their lips. “You’re amazing. You’re everything I want.”

Keiji did not doubt him for a second. 

○

Miwa, when she realized what was happening, found it hysterical. She took one look at his creased clothing and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. “Come quickly,” she said, tugging him into her chambers. She showed him how one makes themself presentable after committing adultery—once she stopped laughing, that is.

After straightening his clothes, she cupped his face and smiled at him. “I prayed that the gods would grant you the same happiness that I found.”

“It seems Lord and Lady Miya were their gifts all along.”

“Indeed they were.”

○

Despite Keiji making every attempt at discretion, the lords and ladies of the court had noticed. At another one of their mindless sports contests, as Osamu threw his javelin, Lady Hana sidled up to Keiji.

“Your grace,” she greeted, slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow.

“My lady,” he said. He did not take his eyes off his lover.

“He’s quite skilled, is he not? Lord Miya.”

“Yes, he’s quite athletic.”

“You seem to spend a great deal of time with him,” she mused. “Do you play _gungi_ together?”

“We do. He hasn’t bested me yet, however.”

“And you’re always seen at the stables with him. Do you ride Lord M— _with_ Lord Miya often, your grace?”

From his spot, Osamu locked eyes with Keiji, then glanced at Hana, face unreadable.

Keiji turned his head slowly and met Hana’s eyes. “I do. He’s a very capable rider.” He took her hand from where it rested in his arm and patted it. “I appreciate your enthusiasm for the comings-and-goings of my daily life, Lady Hana.”

“I have the utmost concern for your well-being,” she said.

He squeezed, as one would squeeze an orange to harvest its juice. She blinked wide eyes at him. “If you insinuate that I’m sleeping with anyone but my wife again, I’ll have you strangled in your sleep.”

He dropped her hand, smiled, and walked away, uncaring of her reaction. Osamu had made a liar of him.

○

In Keiji’s study, after they shed their clothes, Osamu pushed Keiji into a chair and dropped to his knees. His hand was warm and startling around Keiji’s cock.

“I dreamed of doing this in the throne room,” Osamu said. “Another wish that will never come to pass. This will have to do.”

Keiji clutched at the armrests, then at Osamu’s hair. “What other wishes do you have?”

“To see you in white, more beautiful than any bride.” He pumped slowly, then faster. “To make love to you in our marriage bed.”

He said nothing else and took Keiji into his mouth. Keiji threw his head back and groaned. The hope of it was too much to take. When he came, he pictured himself on the throne, Osamu at his shoulder, wearing a bridecloak as dark as midnight.

○

“I worry for you,” Tetsurou told him in the training yard as Iwaizumi showed Tobio new forms.

“Why? Am I in danger?” Keiji said, breaking the wax of a letter. He had several to read.

“Danger of your own making. Think about what your father would do if he found out.”

Keiji shook his head minutely. “He can’t afford to lose me. Who would do his job for him?”

“Don’t underestimate him. You are smart, your grace, but he is ruthless.”

“I can be ruthless, as well.” Keiji scanned the parchment from General Bokuto. His spirits soared. “Fear not, Ser Tetsurou.”

He passed the letter over and let his sworn shield read.

“There is much to celebrate," Keiji said. "We’ve won. They’re coming home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! until next time <3


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